


potential

by bestie



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Light Angst, M/M, Or Maybe More-Than-Light-Angst, Pre-Shield Betrayal, There's No Tag For That
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-12
Updated: 2017-08-12
Packaged: 2018-12-14 06:58:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11777880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bestie/pseuds/bestie
Summary: “Do you ever...think we’re meant for something more?”





	potential

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Hyacinthus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hyacinthus/gifts).



> To Hyacinthus (and of course anyone else who might read this): I hope you enjoy!

A hand squeezes Seth’s shoulder. It’s meant as a friendly gesture, he figures, but the grip is too rough, lasts too long, and it gives him the impression that it's definitely only  _meant_ to be friendly, and that whoever it is, they're not too concerned if it's considered otherwise.

“You did good out there tonight, kid,” says a man with a voice all too familiar to Seth.

He turns his head sharply to look over his shoulder, only to see Triple H standing there, with Stephanie by his side. They’re both watching him, smiles on their faces that don’t quite reach their eyes, and Seth jerks his shoulder away, glaring back at them.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” he snaps, reveling in the way their smiles fall in an instant. They may have caught him alone, but that doesn’t mean he’s suddenly interested in their compliments. “I don’t associate with people like  _you_.”

Triple H’s eyes close for a brief moment, like he’s trying to keep calm. “You should think that over.”

“Excuse me?” Seth turns more towards Triple H, his entire upper body facing him now. “Look, pal, just because I don’t have my brothers here with me doesn’t mean I’m scared of you, so how about you get outta—”

All Triple H has to do is clear his throat to silence Seth. He smiles again, small and almost  _sinister_ , and takes something out of a pocket on his suit. “Here,” he says, holding it out to Seth.

It’s a card.

A  _business_ card.

Seth scowls, taking the card and briefly looking it over. It’s plain and simple, just like Triple H; all it has on it is his name and a phone number.

“My cell,” says Triple H, still smiling down at Seth. (Did Seth _look_ as confused as he felt?) “In case you want to get in contact with me.”

“Like hell I would,” Seth mutters. It’d be stupid of him to rip the card into shreds right here with Triple H and Stephanie standing right there, watching him, so he pockets it instead, giving the two of them one final glare before hurrying off for the exit.

 

\- - - -

 

“Where the hell have you been?” Dean asks. He’s rolled the windows down in his car; Roman’s in the back seat, already dozing off, and there’s some old seventies rock music playing on the radio. “We should’ve left, like, twenty minutes ago, dude.”

Seth rolls his eyes as he opens the trunk, shoving his suitcase and bag in wherever they can fit. The three of them don’t drive together often, but Seth’s car is in the shop and Roman had been hitching a ride with his cousins (for “far too long,” he’d said, with tired eyes and an expression that told of weeks— _months_ of horrors neither Dean nor Seth would ever truly be able to understand) and had finally had enough of it. They were on their way to a show in Florida, so it seemed easy enough for the three of them to ride together.

“Your car is way too small for the three of us,” Seth says, in an obvious attempt to pass Dean’s question off. He uses his foot to jam his bag into a corner of the trunk, squashed in beside Roman’s fancy-looking suitcase. “Like, seriously. Are you sure it won’t break down carrying all of us?”

“I’ll kick Roman out if  _she_ starts puffin’ smoke,” says Dean, with an emphasis on  _she_ because right, of course, Seth’s forgotten againthat Dean’s car is practically his baby. “He’s a big kid. He can hike a couple hundred miles if need be.”

Roman lets out a snore that sounds suspiciously like a disguised laugh.

Seth rolls his eyes, slamming the trunk shut with a loud  _thump_ — “Hey!” Dean snaps, banging a hand on the side of the car to get Seth’s attention. “Be gentle with her!” — and rounding the back of it. He opens the passenger door and sits down with a huff. “We leaving yet?” he asks, yanking the door shut.

“Gonna turn this car around if you keep up _that_ attitude,” Dean mutters with a chuckle. He turns the key and the engine roars to life after a disquieting first few seconds of suspicious puttering. 

 

\- - - -

 

Thirty miles into their drive, and Dean is the one to break the silence that’s settled over the car first. He raises a brow as he glances over at Seth, then looks back at the road, and repeats that a few times, before finally asking, “You okay, man?”

“What? I—” Seth clears his throat, shifts uneasily in his seat. “Yeah, no, I’m fine,” he continues, almost too hurriedly. “All good. Just...eager to get to Florida. Want my car back.”

“Right,” says Dean, giving Seth one more glance that looks too suspicious for Seth’s comfort. “Sure. Totally.”

 

\- - - -

 

Dean’s getting gas, and Roman’s disappeared into the gas station in search of snacks and caffeine to keep them all awake the rest of the ride, and Seth’s sitting there in the passenger seat, feet kicked up onto the dashboard as he stares at his phone.

_Why did you give me this?_

He shouldn’t send it.

He really, really shouldn’t.

But he does.

Triple H doesn’t even hesitate to respond.  _Why do you think I did?_

Seth grimaces. This feels like some sort of trap, and he’s just falling right into it.

His fingers move quickly to type out his reply:  _Because you’re desperate to break apart the Shield._

 _Desperate is a strong word_ , says Triple H.  _You must think pretty highly of yourself_.

 _I think pretty highly of us_ , Seth replies.

_Not yourself?_

Okay, it’s definitely a set-up.

Seth leans back in his seat, tongue darting out to wet his lips. His fingers hover over the keyboard on his phone, tapping nonsense into the text box as he thinks, trying to decide if this is something worth pursuing.

And then there’s a knock on the window.

“Hey,” comes Dean’s voice, “quit texting your next hookup—” ( _gross_ , Seth thinks to himself) “—and help me out here.”

Eyes narrowing, Seth looks up at Dean and, as childish as it is, sticks his tongue out at him.

“Brat,” Dean chides.

“Dick,” says Seth, as he pockets his phone (hitting send accidentally as he does, leaving Triple H with a thoughtful reply of  _asfhdkfjdlshdjdsbcvs_ ) and cracks the door open enough to stick his head out. “What’s up?”

“C’mere,” says Dean, waving with his free hand.

“Seriously?” Groaning, Seth gets up and out of the car, and hits the door with his hip on the way out to close it. He leans on the closed door, giving Dean an expecting look.

Dean grins at him, holds out an arm, wiggles his fingers and waggles an eyebrow, and says again, “C’mere.”

Seth doesn’t move. “Why?”

“Do I need a reason to hang with one of my best buds?” Dean asks in response.

“I don’t trust you,” Seth mutters, smiling despite his words. He pushes off from the car door, moving to sling an arm around Dean’s shoulder — but Dean moves faster, his arm wrapping around Seth’s waist and pulling him in close.

Dean presses his lips to the top of Seth’s head briefly, then shifts, resting his chin there. “Got’cha,” is all he says, sounding proud of himself.

“Damn. You sure got me,” says Seth, voice muffled because Dean has his face pressed up against his chest. He turns his head so he can talk clearly, continuing, “What’s up with you? Seriously. You're not always this clingy.”

“Nothin’,” says Dean.

“Right, sure,” says Seth. “And I’m, like, the son of Kurt Angle.”

Dean sighs, his hand snaking lower, past Seth’s waist. “Nothing’s wrong,” he says. “I’m fine. You’re fine. Hell, even Roman’s fine. Your ass, especially, is  _super_ —”

“Oh my God, stop,” Seth laughs, batting Dean’s curious hand away before it can sneak any lower. “You’re as good at avoiding questions as I am, Dean.”

“Mhm,” Dean hums in agreement. His hand is already sneaking lower again, and Seth grabs his wrist to keep it still. “That’s why we work so well together.”

Seth rolls his eyes and shifts onto the tips of his toes, so he can whisper into Dean’s ear, “If you try to cop a feel while we’re driving, or you call me ‘babe’, I’m gonna  _walk_.”

“Aw, baby,” Dean murmurs, “you’re no fun when you’re runnin’ on five hours of sleep.”

Seth jerks away and out of Dean’s hold with an over-exaggerated gagging noise. “Okay, seriously. _Seriously_. No joke - I’m walking.” He turns on his heel, throwing his hand up in a wave as he starts the walk to the gas station. “See you in Florida, if the Wyatt family doesn’t find me first and strap me to the hood of their shitty car.”

Dean scoffs. “I called you  _baby_ , not  _babe_. Doesn’t count!” he shouts after Seth.

 

xxx

 

Florida is hot and humid and Seth really, really hates it. Getting cleared for entrance into the arena when so many other wrestlers managed to arrive at the exact same time is, quite possibly, one of the worst things he’s ever had to deal with.

(Of course Triple H is there, and of course he cuts the line, and of course he stares at Seth for way too long afterwards with a smug sort of look that makes Seth think back to their texts. Of-fucking-course.)

“Pre-show barbecue on top of the supply truck,” Dean whispers into Seth’s ear as he walks past, dragging his suitcase behind him. He’s headed in the direction of the employee entrance, even though he’s definitely not an arena employee. Seth - and just about everyone else in line - gets to watch as he successfully bribes an employee into letting him through their entrance.

Maryse swears at Dean in French as he disappears past the door, and Xavier plays a somber tune on his trombone.

Maybe Florida isn’t always as bad as Seth thinks it is.

 

xxx

 

 _We can meet and discuss things_ , Triple H tells him. _It would be private. Discreet. Nobody would ever need to know._

There’s burgers sizzling on the portable grill.

 _I’m busy_ , Seth replies. _And not interested_.

Roman cracks open a beer, and tosses an unopened one to Dean.

Seth sips at his own beer, deep in thought, before asking suddenly, “Do you ever...think we’re meant for something more?” When Roman and Dean both look at him with confused expressions, he blanches, glancing down at his phone as it lights up again with another reply. ( _You have potential_. _Don’t waste it,_ says Triple H.) Breathing in deeply, he takes a moment before continuing, “Like, I - I dunno, I just – I wonder, sometimes, if we’re squandering around when we could be going for bigger things. _Better_ things. Y’know?”

Roman shrugs his shoulders, grunts quietly in reply.

“Okay,” Seth says slowly. “Okay, so, uh. I’ll take that as a  _no_ from you, then.”

“I’d say it’s a  _no_ from me, too.” Dean turns, looking over his shoulder at Seth, and points his spatula in his direction. “You gotta be happy with what we got, Seth. We’re  _lucky_. Most guys dream of doin’ what we do, holdin’ the titles we have. We’re out there doing what’s right and having some fuckin’  _fun_ while we do it. That’s lucky. Understand?”

Seth’s phone lights up again. He looks down, and—

“Hey.” There’s a snapping noise, and Seth looks back up, blinking in surprise; Dean gives him a _look_ and snaps his fingers at him again. “Eyes on me, babe,” he drawls. “We’re having a heart-to-heart, here. Your side-chick can wait for two minutes.”

“It’s not a woman!” Seth exclaims, a laugh betraying any fake anger he tries to dig up. “Seriously! I swear, it’s not. Can we just drop—”

“Then who is it?” Roman asks, leaning forward in his seat to catch a look.

The panic that surges up is immediate. Seth’s heart skips a beat as he jerks back, turning his phone off before Roman can see anything on it. “Nobody important,” he says shortly, pretending he can’t hear the way his own voice sounds winded.

“Right.” Roman settles back, arms crossing over his chest, his expression dubious. “So you’re a liar, and it’s definitely a woman.”

Seth bites his tongue for once.

 _Think about it_ , says the text from Triple H.

 

\- - - -

 

“Hey,” Seth murmurs, fingers brushing under the fabric of Dean’s shirt, running across his stomach. He presses close to him, his chest against Dean’s back, blinking away the sleep that’s threatening to take him away from this world. “You awake?”

“Mm,” Dean grumbles in reply, only a vague answer that doesn’t really mean anything either way, but it’s enough for Seth.

“Cool,” he says, pressing a kiss to Dean’s neck. “Well, hey. I just - I want you to know that I love you. Okay?” It’s late, and it’s probably a mixture of exhaustion and leftover adrenaline from his match tonight that’s making him do this, but he wants to. _Needs_ to. “I don’t say it enough, but...I do. Always will.”

Dean chuckles, his hand finding Seth’s and giving it a light squeeze. “You get sappy when you’re tired. It’s gross.”

“Yeah,” Seth says quietly. “I know.”

His phone lights up in the darkness, but he doesn’t move to check it. It can wait.

 

\- - - -

 

_Well?_

It’s early. Dean's already gone, but he's left his jacket so that Seth has an excuse to visit his hotel room next time.

 _Okay_ , Seth replies. _Tonight, before I leave. Let’s meet._

He needs a coffee.


End file.
